Dans la traduction
by lullabystander
Summary: Sometimes, Cedric finds the language barrier a problem. Cedric DiggoryFleur Delacour. Established relationship. One shot.


**Title:** Dans la traduction _(In translation)_  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Pairing:** Cedric Diggory/Fleur Delacour  
**Rating:** PG (mild implications)

**Summary:** Sometimes, Cedric finds the language barrier a problem. (Established relationship. One-shot.)  
**Word Count:** 1,566  
**Disclaimer:** Characters are the property J K Rowling.

**Authors Notes:** Written for Livejournals Fanfic100 challenge community. Prompt 096 - _Writer's Choice #1_: Communication. Please take my attempts at French with a bucket of salt. I'm pitifully out of practice.

Sometimes, Cedric found the language barrier a problem. Not a _massive_ problem, no; just…a problem. It was complicated to explain, so much so, Cedric wondered if his thoughts and his comprehension had a language barrier of their own.

Fleur's accent was the most awkward part of it all; it was thick, like clouds and honey and whipped-cream, and neither here nor there for the most part.

It affected every word she spoke; every sentence she formed, every conversation they had - missing letters, extra letters, mysteriously invented letters - and each time Cedric thought he'd finally figured out the way Fleur said a particular word, she would go and pronounce it completely different the next time she used it.

She had an incessant habit of slipping into her native tongue, too. She could be talking about anything, the sun the sea the sky, and she'd ramble on from English to French to somewhere in between, and it tied Cedric's mind up in knots.

It wasn't always so horrible, though. Sometimes it was extraordinarily charming.

Fleur would say things, murmur things in exotic tones, her mouth at his ear, hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped tight around his waist, and he wouldn't understand a word, not one single word, but what she said, whatever the hell it was, drove him crazy. He wanted her keep saying it, repeatedly. She was _seducing_ him with unintelligible nonsense, and he never wanted it to stop.

But it always had to, in the end. Communication between their bodies could go on and on, but eventually Cedric wanted to _hear_ Fleur. He wanted to _listen_ and _grasp_ whatever she said to him, before those blissfully ignorant moments, _during_ them, and _always_ after.

He knew there were spells that could help him, but Cedric was too wary of side-effects to use that kind of magic. What if he suddenly started thinking with a foreign accent? Or in a different language _entirely_? What if he couldn't understand _anything_ that went through his own mind, rather than just the little things tucked away in the nooks and crannies. 

Fearing the unknown was more than enough reason not to attempt anything he might live to regret.

And yet, he knew _something_ had to happen. Continuously asking Fleur to repeat everything wasn't exactly very fair on her and Cedric had a feeling she was starting to get frustrated with it all. It wasn't just _him_ who had difficulty understanding her, after all. But he _was_ the only English person there that she was close to; she was right to expect more from him. If Cedric knew French, it would've made things a lot less stressful for _both_ of them.

He took an easier (and decidedly _safer_) route than searching through spell books for a solution, and wrote a letter to his mother, asking if she could find him _something_ that might help him out.

A package arrived by owl post, three days later.

It was a Muggle manual; a teach yourself French guide, full of step-by-step tutorials and phonetic spellings and there was nothing even _slightly_ magical about it. It was just straightforward read-and-write-and-learn Muggle material and nothing else.

Well, Cedric _did_ want safe.

So he set to work. In between classes and homework and the pressures of the tournament, Cedric got his head down and studied hard, all the while keeping it completely to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was advertise his new venture, especially if he turned out to be absolutely rubbish at it. Plus he wanted to _surprise_ Fleur. He envisioned himself listening to her mumbled French tones, understanding her, _responding_. He could almost see the look on her face…

He soon started picking things up, understanding snippets of conversation amongst the Beauxbatons students whenever he passed them in the grounds; though he often found himself torn between hoping he'd translated _correctly_, and hoping he _hadn't_. Hearing someone say that Professor Snape was 'unconventionally sexy' was somewhat alarming to say the least, regardless of what language they said it in.

Overall though, he wasn't quite on top of it. The French spoke much too fast (and far too often) for Cedric's brain to latch onto and interpret reliably. But he wasn't prepared to give up.

One weekend, he scheduled himself an entire Saturday to drum the language into his skull.

He set off straight after breakfast, finding a secluded cluster of trees to sit amongst, away from the school, telling no-one where he would be – distractions certainly wouldn't benefit him in the slightest. He snacked on chocolate and took short five minute walks to stretch his legs every now and then, reciting sentences out aloud to himself from memory. Basic things, he thought – _"my name is...", "I am seventeen years old...", "I live…", "I want…", "I like…," "I don't like…". _

With any luck, he'd be able to hold a full conversation about his entire life story by the end of the day. Not that there was a great deal to tell or anything.

He dipped the tip of his quill in the pot of ink at his side, and scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment pressed onto the open book in his lap. He was about to read aloud his work when a shadow fell across his legs, making him look up.

"I 'ave 'eard of wanting to be alone, but all ze way out 'ere?"

Fleur's piercing azure gaze bore down upon him. Her arms were folded, hair billowing slightly in the early-spring breeze. Cedric squinted up at her, leaning back against the tree behind him as he brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Fleur was smirking.

"Well?" she said.

"There's no noise out here," said Cedric, smiling softly. Casually, he slid the parchment towards him so that it completely concealed the book on his lap, careful not to draw Fleur's attention to it. 

"You didn't tell anyone," Fleur sighed, walking to him, "I 'ave been looking all over." Cedric saw her eyeing the ground beside him and he instinctively leaned away from the tree, pulling off his sweater so he could lay it down for Fleur to sit on. Smiling her thanks, she gracefully seated herself at his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

Cedric folded his hands over the parchment. "Sorry," he said, "probably should've said something."

"_Oui_, you should," she nodded against him, reaching to place a hand upon his, interlacing their fingers. She seemed to settle, sighing contentedly, but a moment later she lifted her head suddenly, looking at the parchment. "'Omework?" she said, sounding surprised, "on a Saturday?"

"Uh…yeah." Cedric cleared his throat.

"If I were a Professor, I would not give a _Champion_ 'omework. I should 'ave words…what lesson-" she seized the edge of the parchment suddenly, too quick for Cedric to stop her. He made a grab for it.

"Really, Fleur, there's no need-"

She leaned away from him, waving his hands off so she could see what was written. Cedric slumped back against the tree. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Cedreec, zis …zis is _French._"

Cedric felt quite awkward. On one hand, he was rather pleased with himself that his handwritten French was recognisable; on the other hand, he felt _disappointed_. His secret was out in the open.

"I've, uh, I've been trying to teach myself," he said glumly, taking the parchment from Fleur's hand, "Well, you _know_ I don't always– what I mean is –"

She picked up the book now, staring at it, "You 'ave been learning French...like _zis_? _Pour moi_?"

Cedric could feel Fleur's eyes searing into the side of his face. Smiling lopsidedly, he turned his head to look at her.

"_Oui_," he said, and Fleur blinked. She looked…surprised. Just surprised, nothing else, which was exactly what Cedric had imagined in his many daydreams (though the time and place differed somewhat) but slowly – very slowly, as if everything was _just_ sinking it – a small smile crept to her lips. She shifted so she was facing Cedric properly. 

"Say sometheeng," she said, her eyes sparkling, "anytheeng."

Cedric stared. She wanted him to _speak_? _Now_? But there was still so much work to be done. What on Earth could he say? He searched his mind for something impressive, something _spectacular_, but there was nothing. And she was looking at him so expectantly…

_Oh well_, he thought, and swallowing hard, he took the plunge:

"Bonjour mademoiselle Delacour. Je m'appelle Cedric, et j'aime dormir dans mon propre lit."

It came out rushed, gabbled; so much so in fact, that (to Cedric at least) it almost sounded like perfect French.

Fleur's smile broadened; "I am vairy impressed." She purred, and Cedric lowered his eyes, feeling rather self-conscious beneath the intensity of her gaze. He silently praised his lucky stars that he wasn't the blushing type.

"Alzough, I 'ave to say..." Fleur sidled up to him, easing herself into his lap. She draped her arms around his neck, bringing their faces close; her lips were soft and warm as they grazed his, "Your accent needs eemprovement." Cedric made a small noise of agreement at the back of his throat (it was true) and Fleur smiled. "Mais je vous aiderai …" She pressed herself close and kissed him soundly. "_Je t'aime_," she whispered. 

Cedric grinned - a _slow_, _lazy_ grin.

He finally _understood_.

END

**Translation:**

_"Hello Miss Delacour. I am called Cedric, and I like to sleep in my own bed."_

"But I will help you…"

"I love you."


End file.
